And in the End, the Mist Lifted novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: The Knee
On the day we celebrated our third wedding anniversary, my husband invited all his friends to celebrate it.
I arrived late to the restaurant terrace, still wearing my coat and with a little pharmacy bag hidden in my purse.
That morning I had taken a pregnancy test in the office bathroom, and those two pink lines were still burning inside me.
I wanted to tell Claudio at the end of dinner, glass in hand, alone.
I climbed the spiral stairs, past lanterns and strings of lights, and the first thing I heard was a chorus of laughter and applause.
The second thing I saw was my husband's broad back, on his knees, in the middle of the terrace.
In front of him, standing with her hands over her mouth, was Oriana Barros.
Claudio was holding an open velvet box with a silver ring inside.
"Oriana," he said, in his big-occasion voice, "will you marry me?"
All thirty guests screamed, whistled, and raised their phones.
I stood still at the top of the stairs, my hand on the railing.
Oriana was crying, her eyes huge and her cheeks wet.
"Yes," she said, between sobs. "Yes, I accept."
More screams, more applause.
And at the head of the table, doña Gilda Echenique, my mother-in-law, raised her champagne glass and smiled with her thin lips.
I had arrived thirty seconds ago, and I already knew who had planned this.
I came down the three steps that separated me from the terrace and walked between the tables, my heels striking the wood.
The laughter faded away, one voice at a time.
Claudio saw me.
He stood up with the little box in his hand, and for a second he had the face of a child caught stealing cookies.
"Javiera," he said. "You made it."
"I made it."
"It's a game. Truth or dare. It was Oriana's turn for a dare, and she got to ask me for something."
"And what did she ask you for?"
"To get on my knee and propose to her."
"How creative."
"It was a joke."
"How funny."
"Javiera, don't be dramatic."
Two or three friends let out a nervous giggle.
Oriana wiped her tears with the back of her hand.
"Friend," she said in her wounded-bird voice, "it really is a game. Don't be mad. I'm so embarrassed."
Everyone's eyes were fixed on me.
Claudio's, impatient.
His mother's, enjoying it.
I had been putting up with that look for three years.
I put up with it again.
I took a deep breath.
"Claudio," I said, calmly. "How many times does that make?"
"What?"
"The times you've made a fool of me for her."
"Don't start."
"Oriana's birthday, when you stood me up for two hours at a restaurant. The trip to Chiloé you canceled because she had a crisis. My grandmother's funeral, which you never made it to."
The guests stopped moving.
"That was the third. This is the fourth."
"Javiera..."
"I told you I'd give you five chances. This is the fourth."
A total silence fell, church-quiet.
Claudio clenched his jaw.
"You're making a scene."
"No. A scene is getting on your knee in front of your best friend on your anniversary."
"It's a dare between friends."
"Then I'll do one too."
I reached into my purse, took off the wedding band from my finger, and placed it in the palm of his hand.
"My dare is that you keep it until you figure out what you're going to do with the fifth."
The guests held their breath.
Claudio looked at the ring, then at my face, and let out a short, superior laugh.
"You're not going to leave."
"We'll see."
"You're my wife."
"For now."
I turned around.
Behind me I heard a murmur, a muffled cry from Oriana, the creak of doña Gilda's chair.
I went down the spiral stairs with my heart racing, but without hurrying.
Outside it was cold, and a dry wind was blowing.
I sat on the curb, my head between my knees.
I took the pharmacy bag out of my purse and looked at the two lines again.
My husband had just proposed to another woman in front of thirty people, and I was carrying his child in my womb.
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